


it's just the way you hold me

by penceypineapple



Series: idiots in love [5]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Day Five: 5+1, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Zukka Week 2021, they both get hugs (eventually), they both need hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceypineapple/pseuds/penceypineapple
Summary: “Who am I?”“You’re Zuko. You’re one of my closest friends. You’ve been badly hurt in the past, but you’ve managed to overcome it, to keep moving forward despite your past, because of your past.”“And who are you?”“I’m Sokka. I’m Sokka, and I’ll never let you go.”Or: 5 times Sokka and Zuko don’t hug, and 1 time they do.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: idiots in love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213031
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	it's just the way you hold me

**Author's Note:**

> Zukka Week 2021 Day 5: 5+1!

_Flames hurl towards his face._

_(You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher)._

_He screams._

“Zuko, wake up.”

Hands, soft hands, grasping his shoulder, gently shaking him back into the present reality. But he’s not in the present, he’s _there_ again and all he can see is the cold, hollow smile on his father’s face and his hand cupping his cheek, palms igniting with flames –

He flinches away from the touch (for touch means pain), backing himself into the corner of the room as he gasps for breath (His old bedroom, perhaps? Decorated in red and gold, the room he’d spent hours crying himself to sleep, wondering why his father and sister didn’t love him). He pulls his knees to his chest and clutches his scar with his hand, as if to quench the flame searing under his skin, the pain that still hasn’t left after three years, _three fucking years -_

“I’m sorry.” But what’s the point in apologising? _Nobody will ever forgive you._

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” a warm voice replies, but he’s unable to process who’s talking to him. He can’t hear anything over the sound of his thirteen year old self’s screams echoing through his consciousness. He’s back in the Agni Kai chamber now, it’s the place he goes every night, the one place he’ll never be able to escape from. He can still smell the smoke as it erupts from his burning face.

He knows he’ll never be forgiven, but he must apologise anyway. He must show his guilt, his remorse. For everything he’s ever done. “I’m sorry father. I’m sorry I’m never good enough but I’m trying, I’m trying to be better and I’m so sorry it’s not good enough. Just please don’t hurt me, I-“

“Zuko, look at me. Please look at me.”

He shakes his head as his eyes remain squeezed shut. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe and he can’t stop shaking and it feels like he’s going to die-

“Your father isn’t here. You’re here, with me. Sokka. At the Western Air Temple. Nobody’s going to hurt you. We wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, alright?”

Eventually, he finds the strength to open his eyes. Sokka’s concerned face is hovering over him. In his peripheral vision he sees Katara, Toph, and Aang, all looking equally worried. It’s his fault. It’s his fault for disturbing their sleep, for scaring them with his screams, for waking everyone up because he’s too much of a coward to move on from the past.

It’s always the same dream. He’s forever haunted by his own sickening screams, as the past replays itself inside his head and he’s engulfed in flames. Usually, he can suppress his screams into his pillow. But tonight, he couldn’t. Tonight, he clearly didn’t try hard enough.

And now he must face the consequences. _Everyone will know your weakness._

Aang opens his mouth to speak. “Zuko, are you okay?”

Sokka turns around to face the others. “He’ll be okay, but he probably needs some space right now.”

With that, Sokka gestures for everyone to leave, Aang mouthing a ‘sorry’ as he walks out with the rest of the group.

Once everyone leaves, Sokka turns to him again, shifting a little closer. “You good?” he asks a little awkwardly, for what are you supposed to say to a former enemy? Even after Zuko arrived at the Western Air Temple and apologised profusely for his past mistakes, Sokka had barely said a word to him. His eyes had remained as cold as ice. But now, his eyes held a sense of warmth, like the light flicker of a blue flame.

Like he had already forgiven everything Zuko had ever done in his past, after witnessing the horrors of his dreams.

Zuko sucks in a sharp breath of air, clenching his trembling hands into fists to hide their shaking. He tries to get his breathing under control, tries to remember what Uncle Iroh had taught him on the ship, but he ends up failing miserably.

“I can’t breathe,” he finally manages to get out, huffing a shaky sigh of defeat.

“What about breathing exercises? Do they help?” Sokka asks, and all Zuko can do is nod.

“Okay. Let’s breathe in for three seconds, and out for three seconds. Try to follow along with me if you can,” Sokka instructs, taking several deep, exaggerated breaths.

_One, two, three,_ Zuko counts in his head.

_One, two, three._

_One, two, three._

After several minutes, he manages to calm himself down. His mind and body begin to relax as he reminds himself where he is, reminds himself that he’s safe, and tries to push any lingering memories of the past out of his head for another day.

“I’m good now,” he finally says into the night, unable to meet Sokka’s eyes. For now, Sokka knows everything, he knows everything and it’s scary. It’s scary that someone he barely knows has now been exposed to his deepest weaknesses.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. But I’m always here if you ever want to. I get bad dreams too, sometimes.”

“Okay. Thank you, Sokka.”

“It’s no problem,” Sokka says, and for a second, he pauses. Like he’s debating whether to say something else, or whether to give Zuko a hug.

_(Zuko’s glad he decides against it, for touch means pain, not love. Never love)._

Instead, all Sokka says is, “Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Night.”

* * *

“I just wanted to say a proper thank you,” Sokka says, after the rest of the group has left the campfire to go to sleep.

“For what?”

Sokka smiles. “For _helping me_ , idiot. You risked your life out there. For me. You saved my dad. _And_ my girlfriend.”

Zuko shakes his head, still staring into the fire slowly dying in its embers. “I didn’t save him, Sokka. You did. I just helped out a little.”

“ _A little?_ If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be dead, and Dad and Suki would still be in prison.”

A beat of silence. “Okay, fine. You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you before,” Sokka says suddenly, tearing his eyes away from the final flickering flames and pulling his gaze towards Zuko.

“ _You’re_ sorry? I should be the one who’s sorry,” says Zuko, as if he can’t fathom anyone ever apologising to him.

“You are, though. You’ve said sorry about a hundred times since you first arrived. I haven’t even said sorry once.”

Zuko turns to him then, moving a little closer along the log. Their knees are almost touching. “You don’t need to.”

“Zuko, I _do_ need to. And I’m sure Katara will come around soon, too. I just- I guess I couldn’t separate the… the _past Zuko_ from who’s sitting next to me right now.”

“They’re the same person,” Zuko says flatly.

“Well obviously they are. It was a figure of speech.”

It’s the first time Sokka has ever heard Zuko laugh. It’s only a little snicker, but all he wants to do is capture the beautiful sound, to hold it in his hands, to keep the tune forever.

“All I’m saying is,” Sokka pauses, picking his words carefully. “I didn’t know you back then. I just assumed you were a stuck-up, bratty prince. Sorry, but that’s just what I thought.”

The smile doesn’t leave Zuko’s face. “No, it’s okay.”

Sokka continues, his next words heavy as they leave his mouth, as if they weigh down the stars in the sky. “But now, now that I’ve actually gotten to know you, everything in the past kind of… kind of makes sense.”

“You’ve seen me,” Zuko suggests into the night as Sokka continues to struggle with his words.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you.” He recalls Zuko’s nightmares, the way he had screamed and cried for his own father not to hurt him was enough to shatter Sokka’s heart in two. He knows there is so much more he hasn’t yet seen, but he almost can’t bear to think of what those things may entail. It scares him.

A sad smile. “And who did you see? Who am I?” As if Zuko’s identity has been shattered long ago, and he’s still struggling to pick up the pieces.

Sokka takes another long pause, for words cannot capture what he sees in Zuko’s golden eyes every day. “You’re Zuko. You’re one of my closest friends. You’ve been badly hurt in the past, but you’ve managed to overcome it, to keep moving forward despite your past, _because of_ your past.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Sokka. I’m Sokka, and I’ll never let you go.”

Zuko’s eyes go misty with unshed tears, and Sokka moves to wrap an arm around his shoulders. But before he can pull his friend into a hug, Zuko pulls away with a sharp jolt.

“S-Sorry,” he stammers. “Goodnight, Sokka.”

“Night.”

* * *

“Hey,” Zuko says, sitting down beside Sokka. It’s like the air is heavy and weighing down on their chests, on everyone’s chests. The day of the Comet is tomorrow, and tomorrow is mere hours away. For there’s no way Zuko will be sleeping tonight, no matter how hard he tries.

For tomorrow, there’s a possibility that someone may never return from the war. It could be someone in the Gaang. It could be him.

It could be Sokka.

“Hey,” Sokka echoes, voice flat and raspy.

“How are you feeling?” He knows it’s a stupid question, but what else is he supposed to say?

“Like shit,” Sokka says. “What about you?”

“Like shit too.” He pauses, wondering if Sokka will elaborate.

“I’m just really scared,” Sokka says, letting out a shaky sigh and running his fingers through his hair. “About tomorrow. What if one of us doesn’t come back?”

“I know. That’s what’s scaring me too. I-I don’t want to lose you guys. I know it sounds stupid because I haven’t even been in your group for very long, but-“

“Zuko?” Sokka’s voice is soft, almost a whisper. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

He pauses. “I-I-“ he stammers, unable to get any words out.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Sokka assures him. “I just thought you might need one, I guess.”

“I’m fine,” Zuko says a little too curtly, instantly regretting his dismissive tone. He doesn’t want to unload all his trust and abandonment issues onto Sokka the night before a battle, but he also doesn’t want to push Sokka away.

_(Because he’d pushed Uncle Iroh away, and it’s something he still regrets to this day, even after Iroh had forgiven him)._

“Zuko, I’m sorry,” Sokka says. “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s okay,” he replies. He needs to change the subject, but he doesn’t know what to say.

He never knows what to say.

“We’re going to be okay,” Sokka finally says. “We’ll look out for one another as best we can. And if something… if something _does_ happen, at least we died saving the world from your asshole father. We’d probably go down in history for that. What if this battle gets put into history curriculum or something, and kids have to learn about us at school?”

Zuko lets out a weak laugh. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

With that, Sokka stands up. “Better try and get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

It’s over.

The war is over.

“Katara!” Sokka exclaims, rushing over to his sister as fast as he can on his crutches, pulling her into a tight hug. _She’s okay, my sister’s okay._

“What happened to your leg?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Where’s Zuko?”

“He’s alive,” Katara says with a shaky sigh, wiping old tears from her cheeks.

“ _Alive?_ Is that it?” All he wants to hear is that Zuko is okay, that he’s alive and happy. But this isn’t what’s coming out of Katara’s mouth. Her tone of voice makes it sound like Zuko is fighting for his life.

“He- he got hurt, Sokka. Badly.”

“What happened?”

The tears return to Katara’s eyes. “Azula tried to strike me with lightning. He jumped in front of me. Sokka, he saved my life. He almost _died_ saving my life, and I just… I was just so scared he wouldn’t survive.”

“But he’s okay now, right? He’s going to be okay?”

Katara gives a weak nod. “I managed to restart his heart. He’s going to make it, but it’ll probably be a slow recovery.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s asleep in the palace. Come on,” she says, helping him up the stairs and into the palace. It makes Sokka a little sad seeing the place where Zuko had suffered so much as a child at the hands of his father and sister, but Sokka tries to push the thought from his mind.

Katara pushes open the door, and Zuko jolts awake with a start, right eye wide while his left barely moves.

“It’s okay. It’s just us,” Katara says gently. “How are you feeling?” She sits down at the foot of his bed while Sokka lingers awkwardly in the doorway. For some reason, he feels out of place. Like he shouldn’t be here. Katara is here to heal Zuko, while Sokka has nothing to contribute. Even more so with his broken leg.

Zuko nods weakly, but his eyes are gazing off somewhere else, like he’s not entirely lucid. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words seem to come out as he rests his head back against the pillows and closes his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh.

Sokka dares to come a little closer. Zuko’s entire torso is wrapped in bandages and his face is pale, drained of all colour, aside from the dark circles that cradle the bottom of his eyes. His forehead is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It’s like he’s lingering in the uncertain world between past and present, awareness and unconsciousness, life and death.

Zuko’s golden eyes blink open. “Sokka?”

“It’s me,” Sokka says, tears clouding his vision as he fights every urge not to pull his friend into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

It’s like Katara is able to read his mind, for she says, “Don’t hug him. He’s in a lot of pain, especially around his chest.”

“Don’t worry,” Sokka says, turning to her and wiping the tears from his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.”

* * *

“Is Sokka okay?” Zuko asks Hakoda. Last night, he had received an ominous letter from Sokka in the middle of the night, telling him that there was bad news. Concerned for the wellbeing of his friend, he set off for the Southern Water Tribe as soon as he read the letter.

A confused look washes over Hakoda’s face. “He wasn’t at breakfast this morning. But other than that, he seems fine. Why?”

_Whatever it is, he must be dealing with it alone._

Zuko shakes his head. “Nothing. Is he in his tent?”

“Should be.”

Zuko approaches Sokka’s tent and gently calls out his name, to be met with a flat ‘come in’ in response. There Sokka sits on his bed, right leg tucked into his chest and left leg stretched out in front of him. At a first glance, he seems fine. But he isn’t. Zuko knows he isn’t. Sokka’s eyes are distant, and they barely even flicker to Zuko at his entrance. His face looks a little flushed, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks shiny with old tears. His chest rises and falls rapidly and unevenly.

“Sokka? Are you okay?”

_“Obviously not.”_

Zuko frowns, a little taken aback, for he’s usually the one to snap, the one to lose his temper. Not Sokka. Something is very, very wrong.

A long, heavy pause hangs in the air before Sokka speaks again. And when he does, his voice is hollow and cold, as if he’d already shed all his tears. “It’s not going to get better. My leg, I mean.”

“According to who?” he prompts gently.

_“My physical therapist, Zuko,”_ he snaps, before lowering his voice again, as if he’d scared himself by his own outburst. “She says there’s permanent damage. So you can’t lie to me this time. You can’t tell me it’s going to get better when it isn’t.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Zuko doesn’t know what to say, because nothing he ever said or did made anything better. All he can do now is be there by his friend’s side.

“I’m going to have to use a cane now. For the rest of my life. My life, my entire life is fucking _ruined_.” The defeat spills from his voice like black poison, as his gaze flickers over to the cane lying on the floor that Zuko had been too occupied to notice.

Zuko shifts closer and wraps a tentative arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Look, I know nothing I say’s going to make it better. But your life isn’t ruined, Sokka. You’ve still got-“

“You don’t have to lie to me.” His voice is cold and firm despite his tear-stained cheeks, as if he has no tears left to cry.

“I’m not lying. I know it might feel like your life is ruined right now, but trust me. It isn’t. There’s still so many things you can do, and-“

Sokka cuts him off again. “Yeah. Alright.”

It’s no use. Sokka is already gone. He’s shut himself down. He’s not listening to a single word Zuko is saying. Even if Zuko does manage to convince Sokka to listen, there’s no way Sokka will ever believe him. He can’t tell his friend lies that everything’s going to be okay when it isn’t.

He could tell Sokka about when he was first told that he had permanent damage to his hearing and eyesight from the burn. He could tell Sokka how terrible and useless he’d felt. He could tell Sokka how he gradually learned to accept himself again, and how he still struggles with that acceptance to this day.

He could tell Sokka that he understands.

He could wrap Sokka into a tight hug.

But instead, he says nothing.

He does nothing.

_You coward,_ he tells himself.

* * *

_“Sokka, come on. Please. We have to go,” Hakoda tells him, his grip tight around his son’s wrist._

_But Sokka can’t move. Disorientated, he gazes back at what’s left of his home. Empty, dilated pupils. Trembling hands. The clarity comes back to him after Hakoda touches his wrist. Tears spill down his cheeks as he sobs and resists Hakoda’s grasp. His mind is empty apart from a single thought: Mom._

_Hakoda wraps his arms around his son’s shoulders, half carrying, half dragging him to safety. He continues to sob into his Dad’s shoulders, struggling to breathe through the thick smoke clouding the winter air._

_His mother is gone. He will never see her face again, have her arms wrap around him, hear her soft, comforting voice. The worst part is that he never got to say goodbye._

_Someone is shaking him. Their hands are warm. He wants to hold onto them and never let go._

_“Sokka!_ Wake up!” Zuko’s voice tears through the fabric of his dream, shattering the horrific images alive in his consciousness.

Sokka’s eyes shoot open, struggling to adjust to the painful morning sunlight ( _It was just a dream. You’re safe)._ He has to remind himself to breathe.

Zuko’s concerned face hovers over him. “Sokka, are you okay?”

The fear and panic from his dream soon fades into embarrassment. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah. But it’s fine. I’m fine,” he attempts to insist, although he knows it doesn’t sound overly convincing. He usually doesn’t scream during nightmares, so why did his mind decide to embarrass him on his first night at the palace? On his first night in his new job, as the Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe?

“I’m fine,” he repeats, hoping that would be enough to send Zuko away. But it isn’t.

“No you’re not,” Zuko says firmly. “You can talk to me, Sokka. Please talk to me.”

Sokka sighs, knowing he won’t get out of this. “They’re usually about the war. But tonight, it was about my Mom. About the raid, the raid t-that killed her.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sokka shakes his head. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

Zuko shifts closer. “It’s not fine. Sokka, I get nightmares too, and they’re not fine. They’re scary and they’re horrible and it’s okay to admit that. I understand. I get it.”

“Thank you,” Sokka says, unable to stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks. “For understanding.”

Before Sokka can fully process it, he feels the warmth of Zuko’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest. He didn’t know if it was the hug that triggered it, but tears started to pour down his cheeks as he clings to Zuko’s harder. He cries for the invasion and his mother who’s face is slowly receding from his memory. He cries for his lost childhood, he cries for growing up too fast, but he also cries for growing up _too slow_ , for not being able to save his own mother. He cries for the war, for his leg that never healed right, for the warrior he’ll never be. He cries for his friends, for all the suffering they’ve also had to endure. He cries for Zuko, cries that they had ever been enemies.

But most of all, he cries for the hug he’s always wanted and now has.

He never wants to let go.

_(I will never let you go)._


End file.
